


Note to Self (CC: Windblade)

by QueenAng



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other, wheeljack is hopelessly in love with his conjunx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24252916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenAng/pseuds/QueenAng
Summary: All Wheeljack has to do is take notes on Starscream's speech. His own comments were unnecessary.
Relationships: Starscream/Wheeljack (Transformers)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	Note to Self (CC: Windblade)

Windblade thought, certainly, there was no way to screw this up.

The position had come out of necessity. Specifically, Windblade’s necessity to be free of Wheeljack’s incessant commenting on Starscream’s absence whenever he departed for another city-state. Even Starscream’s sarcastic excuses were better than the ones Wheeljack gave her in earnest while she tried to drag him away from the holovid, his lovestruck optics making her tank roil.

“It’s for work,” Wheeljack insisted, scrambling over her to view the holovid. “What if he makes an important comment about Metroplex? What if someone asks him about the science division and he decides to make a change?”

Windblade scowled at him, not that Wheeljack noticed. “You think Starscream – with his contingency plans for his contingency plans – would randomly change our policies because – what? – a civilian copped an attitude with him?”

“You really underestimate his pettiness.”

Windblade hated that he was right. Starscream was brilliant – right up until the moment he had the opportunity to be petty.

Windblade didn’t bother bringing her proposal to the council; she went straight to Starscream the moment he entered his office upon his return. She all but slammed a data-pad down on his desk. Unfazed, Starscream raised his red optics to scowl at her. “Is there a reason you insist on assaulting my desk? It’s Praxian crystal, I’ll have you know.”

“You need to take him with you,” Windblade said.

Starscream’s expression morphed into one of confusion. “Pardon?”

“Wheeljack,” Windblade said. “Next time you go galivanting around Cybertron for your political nonsense, take him with you. He’s absolutely useless when you leave him here.”

The Emperor’s scowl returned in earnest. “I leave him here so he can get work done. With you. On Metroplex. In fact, I remember you fighting quite hard on that front. _No, Starscream, you can’t just take Wheeljack with you like arm candy, he has work to do with me_!”

“You still can’t do that,” Windblade said.

“You just said—!”

“You need to give him a job. Something to make it look like he has a purpose going with you,” Windblade said. “There are still tensions between the Autobots and Decepticons. If the Autobots think you’re dragging Wheeljack away from his work on the combiners and Metroplex for no reason, they’ll be up in arms. Give him some sort of job to do while he’s with you.”

Starscream’s gaze flickered down to the data-pad, resting precariously at the edge of his desk. “I suppose you have a plan already, don’t you?”

Windblade smiled, picked up the data-pad, and presented it to him.

After a moment, Starscream set the data-pad down. “Why,” he asked, “do you, of all mechanisms, insist on monopolizing my conjunx’s time?”

“He’s my work partner,” Windblade said.

“He’s my _conjunx_.”

“As difficult as I imagine putting up with you is, that’s still not an official job.”

Starscream glared, but signed off on Windblade’s plan nevertheless.

It was so, so, ridiculously simple. Even Wheeljack, while resting his chin in his servo and staring at Starscream like he’s the most beautiful mech in the universe, couldn’t mess it up. All he had to do was record notes on Starscream’s speeches. They said it was for continuity’s sake, to ensure they came through on all their promises. Starscream, of course, had never let his glossa slip enough to make an actual promise, but no bot except the glowering politicians seemed to notice this. For all his faults, he was mostly beloved by the populace, for his silver tongue if nothing else.

Windblade entered Wheeljack’s lab while they were off in Kaon, searching through the data-pads of notes on Metroplex. It was far more peaceful without the holovid of Starscream’s talking playing in the background or Wheeljack’s lovestruck EM field dampening her mood.

She set a data-pad down on the work bench and began going through some of Wheeljack’s other notes. Her other one was connected to Wheeljack’s, allowing her to receive what he typed after he saved it to his data-pad. Who knew, maybe Starscream would say something useful this time around, rather than just appealing to the mechs in the audience.

After a few joors of working, she rose, stretching her wings, and onlined the data-pad to the side. Starscream’s speech had to be over by now, and she could finally see if they needed to do any damage control.

The only thing that looked official about this report was the title and date stamp at the top of the document.

_Star says they’re gonna work on connecting Kaon to Iacon with better roads. Make it easier for conjunxes and amicas to visit. It’s so sweet. Said we might come by and tour some of his old haunts here._

Windblade found it hard to believe Starscream would willingly reveal anything about his personal life to the people of Kaon, which meant that comment must have come from a private conversation between Wheeljack and Starscream. The last thing she wanted to know was anything – _any_ single thing – about their private life. It was scarring enough to be caught between them during working hours.

_He started talking about the Galactic Studies Institute expanding in Iacon. Maybe open satellite campus? Wings flicked a lot while talking. Very excited about it._

Windblade was a bit surprised to see Wheeljack interpret wing-speak correctly. It was such a subtle means of communication; most mechs who didn’t grow up around it tended to disregard it as nonsense. Then again, he was conjunxed to a mech with wings. He had probably picked up on quite a bit of their nonverbal communication. She made a mental note to stop insulting Starscream in wing-speak when Wheeljack was around.

_Maybe hire teachers from Kaon. Possible courses on overlap between culture and astronomy. Talk to leader of institute._

Finally, something of note. Windblade grabbed a fresh data-pad and made a reminder to contact the director of the Galactic Studies Institute regarding additional humanities classes. With renewed hope, she refocused on the data-pad.

_TO DO: Make Starscream a model of Galactic Studies Institute telescope, he thinks it’s neat._

Windblade cocked an optical ridge, but found herself unsurprised. She had never entered Starscream’s quarters, but she had been in his office quite a bit. Models of various flight-frames from dozens of cultures decorated his shelf. She had assumed he bought them out of some sort of vanity, not had them made for him as gifts, of all things. Not purchases, not requests, but simply gifts between conjunxes.

_He’s doing the frown thing he does when he concentrates. Cute._

_Kaon councilor tried to tell him off. Didn’t go well for councilor. He’s so hot when he gets mad._

_Looks really good in red paint._

After a brief scroll through the rest of the data-pad to find more of the same, Windblade offlined it without reading the rest. So much for that idea.

“Just take him with you next time.”

Starscream looked up when Windblade entered his office, handing the data-pad back to him. A smug grin crossed his face-plates. “Oh? What happened to stealing the poor Autobot away from his work?”

“Maybe it would do Cybertronians good to see you traveling so closely with an Autobot without any ulterior motives,” Windblade said. She waved a servo. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. But I’m not reading his lovestruck writings anymore. I thought I was going to be sick.”

Starscream snatched the data-pad and swiped through it, optics flickering as he read through a few lines. A small smile, not a smirk or any arrogant expression Windblade was used to, appeared. It seemed almost genuine. “Oh, the poor fool. At least he’s not nearly as bad as Megatron.”

“Megatron?” Windblade echoed.

One of Starscream’s wings flicked, a faint gesture of irritation. “He favored himself a poet before the war. If I heard one more sonnet about my wings, I threatened to have them removed.”

Windblade let that sink in for a minute.

Starscream handed her the data-pad back. “Now, on your way. I have a conjunx to visit. And a model telescope to add to my collection.”


End file.
